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Brighter Than I Am

Your eyes in the morning; bright, wonderful and clear. The happiness in them as you look at me. Your smile is almost as bright in the rising golden sun. You have just woken, half of your face still buried in the pillow, so you don’t yet remember all of the disappointments, or the heart breaks. You only remember you love me.

Today I am going to be more, change, move with greater power and focus. Today I will accomplish a goal, and strive to build a dream… so that sometime soon, you will give me your morning smile, in the afternoon.

Fiction in 101 words by Glenn Hefley © 2011

The Fountain of Jephthah's Daughter

The sky is bloody, like a burn
festering with black and sand.
There is no sun, no moon, no
clear sky to see the stars.
Cold iron walls the garden
with spike posts and bars.
Forty by forty by forty by forty
the rose trees stand in staggered bloom
dark with thorns they grow from
pure white sand, stark and bold
the grains hum in the wind
and sing when walked on.
No stone, no gray mar the purity
of the ground. Petals fall soft
to the white, splash as drops of
blood, and soak in, nurishing the
ground, leaving no trace of 
death or decay. 
Death is always here, death is 
where here is. This is the tomb
the garden, the grave. She is
no longer here. Gone to her
afterlife, to her next life
to the life after. Where ever
that may be, but she is no
longer here. 
Here, in the center is 
the fountain, and her form
carved from the stone 
of ancient beliefs. The 
beliefs in a god who 
demanded her blood as 
payment for a battle won.
Her form in this stone is perfect
beautiful, young, vibrant.
She looks up, to the heaven,
to her father, who is closer
From her heart pours the 
blood of her life, the blood 
of the wound, the wound of
her father's sword, the wound
of her god's desire. 
She cups her hands, between
her virgin breasts, pooling her
blood, pooling her life, offering
as a gift, as food as nourshment,
as breasts should be offered
not the heart wound of a child.
The blood falls to the pool
from her stone hands, dark.
She stands in the pool's 
center, in her own blood
up to her waist. Still the blood
pours, still she offers to nourish.
Still it is not enough for her god., 
Still the blood pours.
Roses, around her, drop petals
to the pure white sand, as 
drops of blood they splash.
Still it is not enough for 
thier god. 
Every cycle of the unseen
moon, the roses give their 
petals to the ground.
Still it is not enough.
The women bleed
the sand drinks and remains pure

--- Judges Chapters 10-12 

The Bone Dress of 1938

I've been doing some fast research on the fashions of Death motif, for the Urken Biotch novel series and came across more than I thought i was going to come up with. For some reason I had it in my head that 'serious' designers weren't going to toy with a Death design. Again, I find that I am far from correct, which is why I still do research.

This design is from 1938 and was created by a woman named Elsa Shiapareli. It was, at the time, scandalous, but also intriguing... as scandalous items tend to be.

Of course I have found much more and I'll probably post most of it over the next couple of weeks while I finish this first novel.

Blood Concept Fragrance

An Italian fragrance firm is releasing a line of unisex eau de perfumes called Blood Concept based on the four different blood groups, A, B, AB, and O. Which should let us know how far Italians will go to get an edge... ewe

Debuted at Esxence 2011, a perfumery trade show, in Milan and will go on sale some time in September.

All versions of the blood-scented fragrance has a hint of metallic in them that is inspired by the real thing, but does not include any actual blood or flowery components.

I'm really not sure how Blood is suppose to be an attractive smell, on either a man or a woman. It isn't a bad smell on the grill while being seared, but other than beef, I'm not much into the idea of smelling blood.. especialy my own.

If you are looking to attract that gorgeous vampire next door this should do the job. What happens after that is not my fault.

Zombie Frog -- I loved you!

The Zombie Frog is made-to-order.

How can anyone resist the Zombie Frog? It says so much with so little... and loosing more all the time. It truly is a gift that says.. something

Can't wait to get my very own Zombie Frog!

Giant Human Bones!

La mort du fossoyeur
(Death of the gravedigger)
by Carlos Schwabe

In the year 5607 (1847), the Arabs, on digging near this grave, found a deep vault full of gigantic human bones, which excited the astonishment of every one at the great stature of the persons, the remains of whom they were. The Pacha forbade farther digging, and the cave was again closed up.

I love finding things like this while I'm researching for a novel. This one I used in The Flute of Sorrow, which will be out soon.

Of course, when we read these notes from the past, we go "oh my gawd, GIANT HUMAN BONES! Those must be the bones of .. [insert favorite giant humanoid here] !

We humans do this kind of thing almost  automatically.

Fact is, that these were probably not human bones at all, but some large animal. -- and what, exactly, qualifies as "Giant" ?

After I came across this obscure listing, I did a search for Giant Human Bones on Google, and was very surprised at how many are just lying around waiting for someone to find them. A bit of further reading showed that 99% of these discoveries were hoaxs -- someones attempt to make some money.

The listing on doesn't seem to be of the same caliber. The people who discovered the bones, buried them as soon as they could, and apparently, while reporting the discovery didn't let anyone else know where they were.  As a possible hoax, this rubs me wrong for two reasons. First, there is no hook in the story for receiving money. Second, telling people a story like this, and not telling them where the bones might be found, leads to people laughing at you, and if they are polite, calling you everything except a liar. You don't even get free beers for a story like this one. But it didn't seem to bother anyone in that group who came across the bones.

In the Flute of Sorrow, I use the bones as the remains of the Azrael, the Archangel of Death. I chose Azreal over all the other possible Angels of Death, because Azrael is the name used by most Arabs, and it was an Arab group who discovered these bones.

My personal favorite Angel of Death is Suriel, -- "Like Metatron, Suriel is a prince of presence and like Raphael, an angel of healing. He is also a benevolent angel of death, (one of a few). Suriel was sent to retrieve the soul of Moses. It is said that Moses received all his knowledge from Suriel, (although Zazagel is credited also with giving Moses his knowledge). In Cabala he is one of the seven angels that rule the earth."

The great thing about being a fiction writer, is no one expects to believe your story.

GTP and ME and Chess

You: Give me an annotation of the following game, noting and highlighting tactics, positioning, shifts in momentum and their causes, as we...